


Half Light

by orphan_account



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s04e01-02 20 Hours in America, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Staffing the president kind of feels like Sam’s running the rounds but he never makes it to the finish line.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn, Sam Seaborn & Mallory O'Brien
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Half Light

Staffing the president kind of feels like Sam’s running the rounds but he never makes it to the finish line. Writing the speech haphazardly in the car, ink blotchy from the shitty ballpoint that he’d snatched from Toby’s pencil cup, is more along his line of things. Seeing the president speak those words, his words, feels like triumph. Or maybe it’s compensation. It’s been a crappy day and the crash of running on zero hours of sleep only makes its way through when Mallory’s driving him to his place. 

Mallory’s saying something about her new job in Chicago, but it sounds too low, like the volume’s been turned all the way down in his head. He doesn’t realize he’s been nodding off until Mallory says, “Sam, hey,” and he blinks back. She's parked in front of his building and looking over, hands loose on the wheel. 

“When you said you weren’t going to make it, you weren’t kidding,” she says, sounding almost amused, and he replies, “Yeah," half of it muffled in a yawn. 

“Do you need help getting upstairs?” Mallory asks him. The fabric of her dress shines dully in the dim street lighting that leaks through the window.

“No - I’m - I’m - fine,” Sam answers, and this should probably be the moment where he gets out, hobbles his way to his apartment and passes out for eighteen hours straight, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares ahead into the not-quite evening and says, “It was good to see you, you know. I know we didn’t exactly end on - great terms.”

 _“Great terms_ is kind of an understatement,” she says, and it sounds like she could be grinning, but when Sam looks at her, she isn’t.

“You know I asked Josh if you liked opera before I asked you out?” Mallory starts, her fingers tapping along the steering wheel. “And he said you used to play Pirates of Penzance and 1776 at early hours in the morning when you couldn't sleep in college, so maybe you didn't have good memories linked to that sort of thing. But he was pretty sure you’d still be amenable.”

Sam’s not really surprised. Mallory’s been in Josh’s life for a long time. Before Josh had put his roots down in DC, before he’d moved to Harvard and come back for Yale, he’d had Westport and his family and Leo, Jenny, and Mallory. For a moment, Sam thinks of Joanie and then pushes it away as fast as he can. 

“Pirates of Penzance _is_ an opera, actually,” he says around the lump in his throat, because he hadn’t been the Gilbert and Sullivan secretary at Princeton for three years for no reason. “So -”

“You’re not good at lying,” she interrupts him, blunt and straight to the point. Sam’s reminded of the first time they’d met, her telling him off, voice acerbic with the knowledge that he was being an idiot. 

“That’s - well, maybe you could chalk that up to me valuing integrity,” he replies, because she’s right. Sam’s never been good at lying or dealing with lies - the whole MS thing had tested those boundaries straight to the edge, and Sam hadn’t been sure in the worst of it that he’d be able to make it out whole. He's not good at lying except when it comes to himself, and even that's been fraying on the edges for a while. 

“You love Josh,” she says, and her tone is even. Too even. Sam’s heartbeat actually stutters, jumps its way into his throat, and even though he’s all kinds of tired, it’s sharp like a razor edge. “You do.” 

“Well, yeah, I mean, we’re friends, we’ve known each other for -”

“He calls me,” Mallory notes. “He talks about - a lot of things. Mostly about how much he hates the legislative branch. He’s dating Amy Gardner, right?”

Sam remembers the week after the play in New York and the Working Toward Independence Act vote - how Josh had been on eggshells the whole week, words too bitten-off and too sharp. He thinks of too many empty, lonely hours with CJ and Toby in comms, working to avoid thinking about Donovan and all the sleep that they were losing. The one time Sam had seen Amy in the mess after all of it, she’d been on the phone with someone on the Hill, talking away while stirring two packets of sweetener into a cup of coffee. 

Sam had felt like walking up to her and saying something, but he hadn’t been able to think of anything that wasn’t bitter and stupid. He’s been bitter and stupid over Josh for a long time. 

“No,” he says. “They broke up.” 

“I guess that prompts a reevaluation, doesn’t it,” she says. “Of some kind or another.”

“No,” he replies, and it’s too fast, because Mallory turns and stares at him, hard. 

“I deal with children on a daily basis,” she says. “I've seen you fumble in front of a group of nine-year-olds. Trust me when I say this. You’re a bad liar, and I think you should do something about it.” 

“We work in the White House,” Sam tries, because there’s no playing dumb at this point, even though the excuse sounds flimsy and small in his voice. “He doesn't even - Mallory, I can't."

“Hm,” she replies noncommittally, and then there’s silence. Sam’s not really sure what to say - yes, I love him, and it's not what everyone thinks, yes, I love him, but it doesn't matter, yes, I love him, but we’re getting a president reelected, yes, I love him, and sometimes it feels like I could fall out of it, but then he does something, or crashes into my life, or says _you always do,_ and I really, really can’t. Sam knows this all like he knows how to write or how to form an argument, piecing words together bit by bit. It all runs together like water spilling over ink, blurring everything until there's nothing left, and he's pretended for a long time that it doesn't hurt. 

“Get some sleep,” Mallory finally says. She's giving him an out, and Sam would be thankful if it didn't sting. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers. He thinks about Indiana and what Toby might say about the speech, because his opinion has always been Sam's yardstick. He thinks of Donna and CJ and Charlie. He thinks of Bartlet and this election before his mind circles back to Indiana. Sam doesn't go any further. He can't. “Thanks, Mallory. Good night.”

“Good night, Sam,” she replies, and Sam can almost convince himself out of hearing the sympathy (because anything else would be worse) in her voice. 


End file.
